He feyde, Syr, fo mote y the, To-morne thou fchalt my lady fee, Y fchall hur brynge to the chapelle, Be the oryall-fyde stonde thou stylle, That ys fo worthyly wroght. The erle feyde, Y holde the trewe, As farre forthe as y may. Fylle the wyne, wyghtly he badd, Thys goyth to my pay. There he reftyd that nyght, On the morne he can hym dyght, Yn armytes array; 310 When they ronge to the masse, To the chapell conne they paffe, 320 To fee that lady gay. They had ftonden but a whyle, The mowntaunfe of halfe a myle, Then came that lady free; Two erlys hur ladd, Wondur rychely fche was cladd, In golde and ryche perrè. Os blosfome on the tree: Sche ftode ftylle in that place, He behelde yuly hur face, He fawe never none fo bryght. Hur eyen were gray as any glas, Mowthe and nofe fchapen was At all maner ryght; Twyes fche turnyd hur abowte, For the erle fchulde hur fee; 330 340 When fche fpake wyth mylde stevyn, Sche femyd an aungell of hevyn, So feyre fche was of blee. Hur fyde longe, hur myddyll small, Fayrer myght non bee; Hur hondys whyte as whallys bonne Wyth fyngurs longe and ryngys upon When he had beholden hur welle, The lady wente to hur chapell Maffe for to here; The erle ftode on that odur fyde, Hys eyen fro hur myght he not hyde So lovely fche was of chere. He feyde, Lorde god, full of myght, That y myght be hur fere; And that sche no husbonde hadd, To me were not fo dere. 350 360 When the maffe come to ende, 370 The lady, that was feyre and hende, To the chaumbur can fche fare; The erle fyghed, and was full woo, Owt of hys fyght when sche schulde goo, Hys mornyng was the mare. The erle feyde, So god me fave, Of hur almes he wolde crave, Yf hur wylle ware; Myght y gete of that free Eche a day hur to fee, 380 Hyt wolde covyr me of my care. The erle knelyd down anon ryght, And afkyd gode for god allmyght, To that armyte sche byt payde, Amonge that golde fo free; 390 He thankyd hur ofte, as y yow fay, To the chaumbyr wente that lady gay, 'There hur was leveste to bee. The erle went home to hys ynnys, And grete yoye he begynnys. When he founde the rynge; quene, Yf evyr y gete grace of the The erle, al fo foone os hyt was day Toke hys leve, and wente hys way, Home to hys cuntrè; 400 Syr Trylabas he thanked fafte, Of thys dede thou done me haste, 410 Well qwyt fchall hyt bee. They kyfsyd togedur as gode frende, There evell mote he thee! A traytory he thoght to doo, Yf he myght come thertoo, So fchrewde in herte was hee. Anon he callyd two knyghtys, Hardy men at all fyghtys, Bothe were of hys kynne; 420 |